The Price of Fame
by evilpoptart1
Summary: Dib has captured Zim, saved the Earth, and has all the fame a person could want, but is he truly happy?


I'm just going to start by saying this, I like angst. If you would take the time to look at my other fics, you will see that most of them include this element. This story is no exception. Many people who review my fics tell me that my writing has made them cry. Believe it or not, it's the best complement you could give me because it tells me that I have accomplished my goal, to use angst to my advantage. 

Anyway, enough about my other stories. This fic is a short, 1-chapter story of fame gone wrong. I'm particularly proud of this story because it's the first time that I've ever really tried to get inside Dib's massive head for a fic to see what makes him tick. With that said, I'll let you enjoy the story.

Disclaimer: Duh, I don't own the Invader Zim characters, I'm just some stupid bum who writes about them. 

The Price of Fame

"_Where am I?"_ he thought as he slowly opened his droopy eyelids. Pushing his glasses back on his nose, he stretched and let out a drowsy yawn. Unfortunately, this blissful ignorance didn't last as long as he would have liked. Reality seemed to hit him like a speeding train as he realized with disgust where he really was. 

His eyes slowly scanned the dusty, neglected room, observing every empty Jack Daniel's bottle, forgotten file, and crumpled paper that had been carelessly thrown on the floor. Sometimes, he wondered whether or not there really was a floor underneath the thick layers of rubbish. Maybe the floor was just an illusion, just like his own life. At this thought, he gave out a slow sigh and continued to observe his own personal prison. Lately, he didn't dare venture back to his own home, let alone outside. One step out side and he would be drowning in a pool of human bodies, tearing at his cloths, thrusting papers and pens in his face, and yelling numerous questions which were always lost in the roar of the crowd. His prison, his office was the only place in which he could enjoy some solitude and get some sleep. Some would say that he should be happy, that he should be pleased with his numerous accomplishments. However, he was, in fact, not at all happy or pleased.

Settling back into his chair, he stared into the mirror in front of him. Looking back at him was a man that he could barely recognize. The man's eyes were bloodshot and red, hiding inside thick black circles and baggy skin. They were not an angry red, but rather tired and sad looking. His face looked like one of a young man, yet it also looked old and worn, as if he had aged in a matter of years. It was the face of a man who had seen too many things, suffered too many defeats, and was sick with self-loathing. 

"_Is that really me?"_ he thought silently, staring straight into the eyes of his own reflection. "_How could I let this happen? How could I let myself turn into, this thing, this zombie that's too scared to leave his own office? I see no inner beauty because I have none. The day I caught Zim was the day I sold my soul. I have nothing to be proud of, nothing at all. I'm miserable when I should be happy. Why do I have to suffer so!!!!!" _At this last thought, Dib punch the mirror with such a force that he sent glass shards flying all over his desk. The mirror became merely an empty frame, just like the empty shell of a man that sat before it.

Wincing a bit, Dib pulled out a piece of the broken mirror from his palm. As he plucked the sharp wedge out, a gush of crimson blood began to flow from the wound like a red fountain. Intently, he watched as the blood began to make a small strawberry puddle in the palm of his hand. Suddenly, a morbid thought slithered into his brain.

"_What if I just let myself bleed for a while?" _he instantly shook that terrible idea out of his head. He admitted it, he was depressed, he was tired of success, but he wasn't suicidal…… not yet anyway. Quickly, he tore a piece of his shirt and tightly wrapped it around the wound.

After tying a tight knot to keep the temporary bandage in place, Dib looked up at the wall again. Like the floor, it was completely covered. However, instead of being covered with trash, it was hiding under a thick blanket of pictures. The wall had two themes. On the right side, he had put up many articles from magazines and newspapers about himself and his great accomplishments, in a failed attempt to remind him why he should be happy. How foolish he had been, thinking that only a collage of paper scraps could restore the meaning in his life. With this thought, he glanced over at the left side of the wall, which contained every reason why he shouldn't be happy. Every inch of the left side was full of glossy, color photos of blood, dissections, and experiments, each more horrible than the next. These pictures not only captured the cruelty of these situations, but also the emotions and physical feelings that went along with each one. Just by looking at them, one would be filled with a feeling of disgust, pain, hatred, and fear. Dib often wondered why he tortured himself with these photos, why he subjected himself to this horrible reminder of what his fame was built on everyday of his life. The answer was simple, he deserved it.

It occurred to him that this wall was very much like the life he lived. When people thought of him, they thought of the smiling face that they saw in the media, a hero to all. However, he wasn't really that white toothed hero that they adored. Instead, he was some horrible monster who allowed the torture of an intelligent being. Although this idea didn't bother him in the least when his fame was still young, but he began to feel more and more guilty over the years. Sure, Zim was going to take over the world and enslave the human race, but even he didn't deserve the horrible things that had been done to him. These days, he couldn't bring himself to look at Zim anymore, for he feared what he would see in those two blood red eyes. He would see pain, humiliation, and most of all, hatred, not only for the human race, but most of all, for him. Just by looking into those eyes, Dib knew that they would confirm all that he had ever feared. It was his fault that Zim must feel pain everyday of his life until he dies, it was his fault that an intelligent being was being treated like a lab rat, and most of, it was his fault that he no longer had a purpose to live for. 

A slow, sad sigh crept from his lips. Without Zim, he was nothing, for in the end, fame was but a sad delusion that he would carry for the rest of his life. Not knowing what else to do, Dib folded his two arms on the desk and rested his tired, tormented head upon them. Sleep was his only comfort now, even if it only lasted a few hours at a time. For a moment, he stayed like this, staring at the broken mirror frame. Perhaps, he didn't beat Zim after all.

_"No, I won the battle, but we both lost the war."_ And with these last words, his eyelids slowly closed shut like the doors of an elevator, an elevator that would take him to a void in which he wasn't a broken man without a future or a purpose. His dreams. 


End file.
